Love Story
by OneFrighteningLittleMonster123
Summary: Vampires are at large in 19th century London and Bella Swan is caught in the middle of it all. Will she find love with one of the blood suckers, or does fate have something else in mind? Read and Review Please.
1. Chapter 1

**Thank you for giving this story a chance.**

_~May 18th 1847~_

"Isabella, dear." My maid calls from down the hallway. I glance back through the double, balcony doors which are still open a crack. I don't want to leave the calm sun set because it is an unusually clear night for London, England.

"Yes, Ms. Emma?" I ask her when I am able to pry myself from the balcony.

"Your mother would like to see that you are prepared for the Ball." She say's with a slight smile, her blue eyes antsy. "You look wonderful Madam, I assure you that."

My eyes wander down my fully dressed body. The dress it's self is thick; perspiration covers my entire body underneath. It is a lovely pale pink colour with long sleeves that end in a decretive ruffle. I don't care much for it. It is like every other dress I have ever worn. Ms. Emma can see my distaste.

"Now, Isabella. Tonight you meet the man you will marry. Try to smile." She says while pinching my cheek. "Your mother met your father at a Ball just like the one you will be attending this evening."

She pats the top of my head, shifting the ringlets piled there. I keep up a pleasant smile while she reminds me that my mother is seeking my presence, but the smile fades as Ms. Emma steps from the room.

My knees buckle and I collapse into my skirt; it makes a halo around me on the carpeted floor of my bedroom. I can't help but feel like a horse; what, being prepared all day just to be shown and then auctioned away?

I don't want to marry a man my mother and father approve of; in fact I honestly don't want to marry at all. Years of watching my mother have turned me off of the idea. She is somewhat like a machine. She organizes the servants, oversees that I am getting an appropriate education for a woman, and socializes politely at my father's galas and Balls. She seldom has any expression on her aged face and she never smiles. Never.

I lay still on the floor, picturing myself as my mother. Dressed in my finest just to sit in my home all day and command orders robotically. The shakes begin to roll through my shoulders before I push the frightening image from my mind. I pull myself from the floor, with some difficulty; the dress weighs nearly ten pounds and I was never one with grace.

Reluctantly I push through the double doors and into the main hallway of the house. Servants and cooks fly through the corridors screaming at one another to get this or that. They are preparing the long dining table along with clearing a space for dancing. As they pass me they all pause and take time to comment on my appearance. I simply bow my head to thank them and then they are off again; running like mad through the mansion.

As I approach the staircase my mother's icy voice drifts up to me with an echo. She is giving Ms. Emma a hard time about my not being in front of her when expected.

"Well, where is she?"

"Madam, she is finishing dressing. She will be here shortly."

"I sent you to fetch her and you came to me with nothing?"

"I'm here, mother." I call out when I can see that Ms. Emma is uncomfortable.

"Thank you, Ms. Emma." Mother says stiffly. "You are dismissed."

Ms. Emma gives me one last quick smile before she disappears down a long and narrow corridor. My mother watches her go before she turns her gaze to me, her glassy eyes looking me up and down. I take a deep breath and start my slow decent down the stairway. With each step my mothers frown and the wrinkles on her forehead deepen.

At the bottom she reaches out and places both of her white gloved hands on my shoulders. "You look lovely, dear." She says with the same amount venom in her voice as when she is commanding the help. In my seventeen years I had never heard her speak differently.

"Thank you." I tell her and curtsy clumsily under the weight of the dress.

She takes her hands away from my shoulders and places them at her side; resting them on her skirt which juts out at the hip. "Well, why aren't you smiling?" She asks. "You will be finding a husband at this ball, will you not?"

"Is that a reason to smile?" I fire back, bitterly. I see nothing in the situation that makes me want to smile.

She takes a step back from me, her eye brows furrowing before she stops herself. _A lady always keeps a straight face_. I can remembering her telling me this when I was merely five years old. I had fallen in the courtyard and cut my knee. When I made a fuss about it she slapped my wrist and taught me the lesson her mother must have taught her and so on.

"Why, yes it is." She says when she has composed herself. "When I was seventeen, I was nearly giddy to meet your father and to start a family."

I stare at her, only seeing myself in the stiff features. I look so much like her, except for the eyes. I received my chocolate brown eyes from my father.

"You? Giddy?" I ask with surprise. "I can't even begin to imagine that."

She has her response at hand quickly; almost as if she were expecting me to challenge her. "Isabella, despite your beliefs I am human and I have emotions. I'm not the robotic fool you think I am."

I let out a slight snort through my nostrils before I give my response.

"How can you expect me to find joy in marriage if I will end up an emotionless, lifeless woman?" I shriek at her. Several of the servants scurrying around on the upper level pause to observe what is happening.

"Marriage," she begins in a weak voice; I have insulted her lifestyle. "is the best thing that can happen to a woman. And you will be married." As she drew to the end of her sentence her smooth tone had appeared once more.

"Mark never got married." I spit back in rage.

Mark, my elder brother, left for Switzerland for schooling and we never heard from him again. My parents never really seemed to care that he never married.

"Mark is a man Isabella. He can get a job and a proper education." She says in a calm, reasoning voice.

"I could get a job." I say feebly.

A slight laugh escapes my mothers lips despite her lack of a smile. "As what? Will you become a cook, or a nanny, or a servant? Or when that fails, will you die in the street?"

I feel as if she has slapped me across the cheek, but I stand staring at her blankly with nothing witty to tell her. If anything her eyes grow even colder and she turns from me and walks slowly down the corridor, shouting orders to the help as she goes.

It takes nearly all of my strength and courage to not scream at her that I wouldn't be marrying anyone, anytime soon. Nor would I be attending the ball. The only thing that keeps me rooted to my spot were Ms. Emma's hands slipping over my shoulders; so much more comforting than my mother's hands. She must have overheard the argument and kept a close watch.

"Your father will be home from the court shortly. He won't want to hear any of this nonsense about you not being married." She whispers in my ear with a stern voice but her eyes and expression are full of nothing but sympathy.

"What do I care what father thinks?" I growl at her. "I barely speak with him as it is."

Father spends most of his day at the court, where he is the master judge. In the evenings he is either smoking his pipes on the terrace or at one of his, or a neighbours social gathering. I don't think little of him, as I do my mother. I know that he is a hard working man who supports our family generously while still maintaining intimacy with my mother; as impossible as that sounds.

"You know your father would like to see you married, dear. Your brother failed to find a woman and your father must want descendants."

"He can live without them."

"Isabella,"

"I don't see why I need a man to live."

Ms. Emma bites her lip a little and her gaze shifts to the upper level of the house. "You don't _need _a man to live. But if you don't want to end up like me, a man would certainly be to your benefit."

My eyes roam over her bloated body and tattered, stained dress. Her hands are dry from washing too many dishes and her eyes are sleepy from having to take care of me for seventeen years. I honestly don't want to end up like her but I wasn't about let her know.

"I wouldn't mind." I say and hold my head high.

"Just give the ball a go. Will you? For me?"

It's hard to resist the kind smile on her cracked lips. "Alright, I'll go. But I'm not going to fall in love tonight."

**Review and let me know if it's wirth continuing**


	2. Chapter 2

**Enjoy. **

The sun settles down in the sky; the bright and unusual oranges shifting into the murky blue announcing it is twilight. Although there are tree's lining my balcony, through the lacework of their leaves I can see the moon as full and as bright as it can be. I am mesmerized by the clarity; the fact that I can see it at all is a miracle in on it's own.

My head is pounding from the music downstairs; music which isn't in my taste at all. My heart is keeping steady time with my head because mother has announced that it is time I meet a boy and she will be sending a respectful choice up within the hour; with Ms. Emma as an escort of course.

I consider locking the balcony doors and staying out in the chilly night air forever. With a sigh I pull out the bands and pins holding my hair up and let the ringlets spill over my shoulders. The feeling I get when they blow in the wind is like a sigh of relief.

I hear footsteps drawing near my room so I scurry to put my hair back up. _A lady is never in the presence of another with her hair undone. _Another one of my mothers lessons drifts to mind. The thought of her alone makes me stop and let the hair fall back. Let them see me; lady like or not.

I hurry back into the room and pretend to be brushing through the knotted mess. Ms. Emma pokes her head in. Red splotches on her cheeks announce that mother has been giving her a difficult time recently.

"Lady Isabella," She begins politely. "A Mr. Tom Talbot seeks a word with you. Shall I let him in?"

_No, _I scream mentally but physically I smile and tell her I would love for him to come in.

I recognize Tom as he steps into the room. He is the son of a widow, who is acquainted with my mother. He is tall, taller than my father even, and has watery blue eyes. His dark, cropped hair contrasts them nicely.

"Isabella," He says while he crosses the room stiffly. "I'm charmed." He proceeds to bend down and kiss my hand ever so gently. A warm blush spreads over my cheeks and it deepens when he stands and looks me in the eye.

"Well, you can sit down." I say flustered and point to the arm chair across the room. He takes the seat and stares at me blankly, as if unsure as what to say.

"Well, what do you do for a living?" I ask him while I put the hairbrush back on the vanity.

"I work for the court. Your father didn't tell you that?" He says, surprised.

"He never said anything to me. Neither did my mother." I tell him.

"Well, yes. I need to support my mother after… the accident." He swallows hard and I watch sweat start to gather on his forehead. He wipes at it with a handkerchief that had been stuffed in his jacket pocket.

"Right, your father…" I can't bring myself to finish my sentence. His father was a soldier that had been killed in battle.

He clears his throat diverting the conversation to some other matter. "Your dress is lovely." He says while scratching at his ear. "And, your hair." The second compliment is phrased as a question. Mrs. Talbot had similar principles as my mother and she must have taught Tom a thing or two about women.

"Oh, this old thing. It's been collecting dust in my wardrobe for centuries." I joke but he doesn't laugh. I say nothing about the hair.

"Have you done any schooling?" He asks me, again not sure of what to say.

"Only with a governess covering the most basic of things a woman can learn. I wished I could go to Switzerland like my brother did, but mother would never allow it." I gush, letting my wildest dreams flow through my lips without realizing it. "And I'd always wanted to get some kind of job."

Tom snaps his teeth together with a loud grinding noise. "A lady's place is in the home. Women have no right to work, Isabella."

Anger boils up inside of me momentarily before I am able to settle it back down. "I know a woman's place Tomas. It was just a thought of mine. Very petty of me, isn't it?"

"It's alright Madam. I won't tell a soul of your sin. But please do call me Tom." He says with a flourish of his hand; waving away his last ruminants of hope for our courtship.

"Yes, sir. But if I may call you Tom, than you must call me Bella." I say my short form with a sneer, knowing how much mother hates the name. She had told me on several occasions that Bella was a tramps name.

"Bella?" Tom asks, unsure. "Isn't it a little informal?"

"Just as informal as Tom is." I say dully.

He can tell that I am not going to give up on my end of the argument so he shrugs it off. "Quite a beautiful night, isn't it?"

"Clearest one in a while." I comment.

Suddenly mother has her head in the door, her features alarmed. "Come now. Quickly!" She shouts.

Automatically I try to hide my messy hair and I brush it behind my shoulder. Mother doesn't seem to notice, her eyes frantic.

My joints lock in a moment of terror. Had something gone wrong at the party? Was father injured? "Mother what is it?" I ask her before anyone moves. I have never seen her more alert than at this very moment.

"Not now, Isabella. It is urgent." She makes rapid gestures with her hands and some stupid part of me notes that what she is doing is un lady like. _Shut your mouth, _the sane part shouts back.

Tom, Ms. Emma and I all scramble out into the hallway after her, quite unsure what is wrong. My heart is hammering in my chest as I have to run to keep pace with mother. I can't hear any sound from downstairs; no music, no laughter, not even a whisper of noise. I am expecting some kind of bloody scene in the foyer but there is nothing out of place.

The guests all stand in a clutter, my father in front. Many of them have similar expressions as I do; worry, fear, curiosity, all mixed together into some kind of un recognizable emotion. .

"Gather in." My father commands us and we do.

I notice Mrs. Talbot, her wrinkled face an odd shade of grey, peering out from behind my father. She is holding a handkerchief to her red, swollen eyes; she has been crying. I can see Tom looking at her questioningly but she simply stares at the crowd, her eyes unseeing.

Father clears this throat once more and I return my attention to him. "Mrs. Brandon has been found dead." His naturally loud voice booms and suddenly the crowd erupts in screams and cries.

_Mrs. Brandon, _I think to myself, _That is Alice's mother. _Alice was a girl who attended schooling with me and I didn't know her very well. Even so, I felt terribly for the girl.

"Quite down," My father is instructing the crowd politely. His voice had become his work voice, the one he used in court. To tell the truth, it was quite frightening. I had only ever heard it once before when he had forgotten his lunch and mother sent me to bring it to him.

"How can we quite down when there is a murderer at work?" One woman with orangey coloured hair shrieks. Her husband tries to quiet her but she pushes him back. "We have to leave. Get out of this town now. Mark my words. Who knows who will be next?"

"Margret, please." Her husband groans and forcefully pulls her from the house while she screams things that will surely occur in my nightmares. Murders didn't happen often in our community.

When the room hushed again father took an audible breath and continued. This time his voice was little louder than a whisper. "I have the unfortunate duty to inform you that this was no ordinary murderer. I saw Mrs. Brandon's body with my own two eyes and I can tell you, her body had been drained of blood. Completely."

The screams erupted once more and this time I joined them.

**Alright, so I hope this is going well. **

**Drained of blood... hmm sounds suspicious**

**Please review and let me know what you thought. Maybe some theories. **

**Thanks so much for reading**

**oflm123  
**


	3. Chapter 3

"It's terrible isn't it? Just look at her." Rosalie, my dearest cousin whispers to me and points over at Alice Brandon.

The girl is paler than usual, her deep blue eyes gazing out into the window, getting lost in the storm unfolding. Her midnight hair, which used to be longer than mine has been cut to her chin in wispy strands.

"It's rebellion." Rosalie says sternly and returns to her drawing.

"The girls mother was murdered, Rosalie. Brutally at that." I argue.

Rosalie's strange green eyes wander up and into my own brown ones. She leans in even closer, looking to see that Mrs. Andrews, our governess, isn't close enough to over hear us. I continue my drawing strokes.

"I know what happened to her. But it is no reason at all for her to chop her hair off." As if to emphasize her point she reaches up and touches her own golden locks, takes one last look at Alice and then shudders. "She is something else that girl. And not something pleasant at that."

I feel a need to defend the girl for some reason, but Rosalie's lips are set and her brows furrowed ever so slightly in concentration. I return to my own work.

An hour or so passes and my drawing is coming along nicely, when Mrs. Andrews calls us for lunch and tea. "Hand in your drawings." She says with a frown, her wrinkled skin sagging.

We all do so and head down the stairs into the parlour, light conversation filling the air. The room is buzzing with petty gossip and laughter. Rosalie and I take our usual seat and Mrs. Andrews fills our cups with tea and offers us a cucumber sandwich.

"I never asked you," Rosalie begins while sipping her tea. "Did your mother ever introduce you to a man at the ball last night? And were there plans made?"

"Yes, she did find someone. Tom Talbot. Have you heard of him?" I ask her, hoping she will say no. I don't feel like talking about Tom.

"Yes, I know of him. Quite the catch if I do say so myself. He works for the court, though you probably already know that." She pats at a splash of tea that spilled onto the table cloth.

"I only found out last night." I tell her.

"Aunt Ruth never told you? She was talking to my mother about it, about having talked to Mrs. Talbot."

I nearly drop my tea cup but it makes a loud clatter against the saucer. "I don't know whether to be angered that my mother didn't tell me she had plans, or that you didn't tell me what you heard!" I nearly shout at her.

"I didn't think it to be right to tell you. Wouldn't it be better off a surprise?"

"It's too late now, I suppose." I take a sip of tea to calm myself.

"I should really finish my drawing. It's going nowhere, really. Just a few scribbles at the moment and Mrs. Andrews won't be happy with it the way it is. Excuse me." Rosalie pushes away from the table gracefully and takes to the stairs and then I am alone.

I glance around at the other girls who are huddled together in their little groups.

First there is Jane Doyle and Lilly Bradshaw; two doughy girls who rarely spoke to anyone besides one another. They sit together in their plain dresses, heads close together, giggling about something.

Then there were Juliet Harrison, Claire Wood, and Molly James, who were of the same dignity as Rosalie and I, but somehow they believed they outranked us. Claire was their leader of sorts and it was evident why. She was gorgeous with her white blond hair and clear grey eyes. Molly and Juliet were rather plain but Claire accepted them and they thought highly of themselves for that reason.

That was everyone… everyone accept Alice Brandon.

She sits on her own, as she did in the drawing room, nibbling on her sandwhich numbly. For what ever reason, I feel an urge to approach her.

It takes me a moment but eventually I am able to build up enough courage and approach her table.

"Hello," I say as warmly as I can. "I'm Isabella Swan."

"Charmed," She says rather cheerily. Enough so to make me curious.

"Mind if I sit?" I ask her and gesture to the empty seat on the other side of the small, round table.

"Not at all." She smiles a bright smile and takes another sip of her tea, her eyes roaming out the window again.

Up close, Alice isn't the grieving girl she looked like from afar. She doesn't gaze out the window in mourning of her mother but it seems she is looking for something out in the rain soaked streets.

"I'm quite sorry for your loss," I say hesitantly, wondering if her emotion over her mother is just being held in.

"It's no loss really." Her eyes come back from the window and gaze into mine showing complete signs of seriousness.

The words that come out of her mouth nearly knock me from her chair. Is she being serious? I wouldn't even say that about my own mother, regardless of my feelings for her.

"Why do you say that?" I ask her, my voice a little squeaky. By now all of the girls in the dining room are staring, their eyes like daggers on the back of my head. Alice doesn't seem to notice them.

"She was acquainted with the wrong people, one could say." She says with a tiny smile and her eyes slide back to the window, rain drops running over it in long streams.

I blink a couple of times trying to absorb her mysterious answer. "I feel like a fool asking so many questions, but what do you mean when you say 'acquainted with the wrong people'?"

She shifts in her seat, her whole body turned towards me now. She unleashes the full force of her endless blue eyes and her lips twist up into an eerie smile. "Do you believe in vampires, Isabella Swan?" She asks me.

My automatic response is to chuckle lightly. "Why, no I don't. Vampires are the result of some crazy man who's imagination got the best of him. Nothing more than fiction." Even though I am sure vampires do not exist, my skin creeps into gooseflesh and my heart picks up speed in my chest.

Alice holds her smile. "Well I do, and my mother was keeping company with them. The vampires killed her."

_Maybe this girl _is _insane, _I think to myself. "Alice, that is absurd." I tell her. "And hush your voice a little." I tell her. I am worried that the other girls will overhear.

"Is it really that absurd?" She says, her voice lowers to a safe volume. "Her body was drained of all blood. Now you may think it is some coincidence, but I am telling you Isabella, it was a vampire that killed my mother."

I am about to give in and ask her who in London could possibly be a vampire, when Rosalie is announcing that it is time for schooling again.

"Mrs. Andrews would like everyone back in the drawing room." She says, her eyes flickering to Alice and then to me and back again.

All of the girls stand up and the giggling fills the small room again; trying to get it all out before the class began.

"It was nice talking to you, Isabella." Alice says politely and follows the girls up the stairs.


End file.
